


Sleeping Together

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written sometime in 2004 I found this bit on my computer.  It takes U.N.C.L.E. to a different ending and redoes the Return Movie.<br/>There is sleeping together, then there is sleeping together.  Sometimes when partners work together long enough it is hard to tell the difference.  So what happens when the job no longer exists?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Together

He opened the door to their hotel room, too tired to do more than remove a few pieces of clothing and fall flat on the bed. Let his partner check the room. 

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” 

“Why?” he asked groggily.

“You only have the one suit.” He was informed. 

Grumbling, he pulled off his suit and slid under the covers, knowing his partner would pick the offending suit up, brush it off, and hang it up for him.

He woke up suddenly. It was still dark outside and Napoleon was standing over him. He wasn’t doing anything – just standing there looking down upon him. A finger traced his lower lip, and then Napoleon was gone, turning toward the open window that led to the balcony.

He got out of the bed and followed, shocked when the American vaulted the railing. Reaching out he made a desperate attempt to stop him. He succeeded, getting a grip on Napoleon’s arm before he could completely fall. He looked down into the dark, pain-filled eyes, staring up at him. Before he could ask why, his grip loosened and Napoleon spiraled down to the ground.

Illya Kuryakin sat up suddenly in bed, breathing heavily. It had seemed so real, this dream. He looked over at the other bed where his partner was barely awake, propped up on one elbow.

“You okay?” Napoleon asked sleepily.

He was still shaking and couldn’t answer.

Napoleon threw back the blanket covering him and scooted to one side of his bed. “Come here.”

Without a seconds thought Illya slid from his bed into Solo’s, back to front. Napoleon cocooned himself around the smaller man, one arm protectively holding him in place. Sleep came easily after that.

He awoke the next morning to Napoleon adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. 

“You better hurry. We have a plane to catch,” Napoleon informed him as if nothing had happened. Truth be told, nothing had and probably never would. Illya debated telling about his dream and decided against it.

~mfu~

A loud pounding at his door brought him from his kitchen. Illya, unable to sleep, was pouring hot water into a cup holding a tea bag.

“Come on, Illya, let me in,” Solo’s voice slurred loudly through the closed door.

Padding to the door on bare feet and disabling the alarm system, Illya unlocked the door. He fell back as the door was forcefully pushed open. Head tilted to one side, he watched as his normally impeccably dressed partner weaved his way to the bedroom, shedding clothing haphazardly on the floor as he went. He stopped in the doorway, puzzled as Napoleon slid into his unmade bed, gathered a pillow to his cheek and dropped off into sleep.

His hot tea a thing of the past, the Russian agent moved to his bed. Sliding in behind his partner, wrapping his arm around him, the blond head resting against a broad shoulder, he too found the sleep he had previously sought in vain.

From that moment on it was not unusual for one of them to seek out the other when sleep evaded their grasp. They never discussed it, but they found they both slept better when the other was there.   
~mfu~

There was a chill in the air as the two men crouched down low, hiding from the swarm of THRUSH agents searching the area for them. They appeared safe for now; though both men knew death could be imminent. After all, it had always been written in the cards.

Napoleon, his back against the crumbled wall, cursed. He had torn yet another suit. “When this is all over I think I’ll retire.”

Illya, watching over the wall, sent an amused glance his way before turning back to his scrutiny of the surrounding area. “Just what would you do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Napoleon said. “What would you do?”

Illya turned around, sitting shoulder to shoulder with his partner and actually gave the matter some thought. “I think I would go into the fashion design business.”

Napoleon stared at him wondering if Illya had taken leave of his senses. Then he laughed. The first genuine laugh Illya had heard in a long time. “The fashion business? You? With your fashion sense?”

“It is not that funny,” Illya said calmly. “I think I could do a commendable job.”

Napoleon was still chuckling; he wiped tears from his eyes. “You probably could at that,” he admitted. “Me, I think I’d go into the computer business.”

Now it was Illya’s turn to stare. “Computers? Your knowledge of how to work a computer is practically nil.”

“Au contraire, my friend. I know quite a bit. It was just more fun to let you do all the work,” Napoleon said piously. 

Illya knew then that he had been had. “Well, unless a miracle happens, we will never find out if you do or not.” The sun was coming up and they were running low on bullets, mercy and otherwise. Their communicators were useless. No one would be coming to their aid. Nearby sounds made discovery appear an almost certainty

Napoleon looked down at his watch. “Oh ye of little faith.”

Exuberant shouts of triumph were closer. Illya closed his eyes to say a last prayer. He looked at his partner, his mouth opened to say something trite; it has been a pleasure working with you, perhaps. He didn’t because Napoleon was grinning. The senior agent had finally lost it, Illya thought.

Napoleon pushed a button on the side of his watch and all hell broke loose. The entire area, except for the little piece the two men were hiding in, went up in flames.

Illya stared at his partner, then looked over the wall at the devastation. Suddenly he was angry. Here he had been resigned to his fate, he had made his peace with his maker… and Napoleon had known all along. He hit him. Hard.

“Owww. What didja do that for?” Napoleon asked, rubbing the hurt area.

“You could have told me.” Illya, his blue eyes blazing, spat out.

“What? And spoil the surprise?” Napoleon was honestly shocked that the Russian was being so ungrateful. After he had gone to all the trouble to set the innumerable mini bombs U.N.C.L.E.’s lab had supplied him with for testing. He stuck out his lower lip, pouting. Something he never did. Illya was glaring at him and he didn’t like it. “I forgot,” Napoleon finally admitted. The bombs had been placed before the Russian had made his miraculous appearance, pulling Napoleon’s fat out of the fire once again. 

Illya’s glare toned down to one of disgust and he shook his head as he looked away. Napoleon’s hand touched his arm and he looked into puppy dog eyes, now a deep rich brown. 

“Forgive me?”

The corner of his lips twitched. The American was impossible. How could he possibly stay mad? “Sooo. What do we do now?”

“We wait.”   
~mfu~

It was close to dusk when the flames finally died down and the two men felt safe enough to venture from their hiding place. They dusted off the soot that covered their clothing as they slowly canvassed the charred area. Nothing and nobody had been left alive.

Gradually darkness fell and with a stiff wind blowing both men were not only freezing but dead tired. Though he should have been surprised, Illya found he wasn’t when Napoleon and he stumbled across an empty cabin. This had been a day for miracles… so why not?

Feeling their way in the darkness, they found a bed, shed their clothing, and collapsed. Sometime during the early morning, Illya opened his eyes sleepily and found himself face to face with his partner. Napoleon's eyes opened and a soft smile touched his features as for half a second their lips touched. Then Napoleon raised his head to cover Illya’s beneath his chin. Napoleon’s hands were stoking along his back. For a micro minute Illya felt he should be alarmed. But it was cold and Napoleon was warm. He snuggled closer into the embrace, his knee inserting itself between Solo’s legs and he fell back to sleep.

~mfu~

Months later the two men sat in a conference room filled with the remnants of men from Section Two. All eyes were focused on the screen where the new governor and mayor of New York were outlining their plans for the city. Plans that included the demolition of the area where U.N.C.L.E. headquarters was located.

THRUSH had finally won. 

All eyes turned as Alexander Waverly angrily snapped off the switch, blanking the screen. “Well gentlemen,” he said when he had calmed down somewhat. “It would appear the enemy has won this round.”

Mutterings of disagreement were heard throughout the room.

Waverly raised his hand, signaling for quiet. “I’m afraid so. This office will be disbanded. Some of you will be reassigned, others will be let go. You will be notified over the next few days.” He stood up and looked over his men, proud of each and every one of them. “You have all made me proud,” he said solemnly, and with a wave of his hand, he dismissed them. “Misters Solo and Kuryakin, will you please stay?”

Both men sat back down, watching as their compatriots filed out of the room. They turned back toward their superior; he had aged a great deal over the past months. “In a few months both of you would have been transferred into other areas. You, Mr. Solo, would have replaced me as head of this office. That is now not to be. Mr. Kuryakin, your scientific knowledge is invaluable. Your choice of any lab in this organization is available. On the other hand, Mr. Solo, I regret having to tell you this. It would appear there is no longer a place for you. If it makes you feel any better, there is no longer a place for me either.” He paused to let that sink in. “You are dismissed, gentlemen.”

The two men walked down the corridor in silence.

“Well, you won’t need me to look out for you any longer, my friend,” Napoleon said philosophically.

Illya pulled Napoleon to a stop and sputtered, “Me? Just who was looking out for whom?” Then he noticed the slight twinkle in the American’s eyes. He shook his head, how could his partner joke at a time like this? But then again, in a little while they would no longer be partners. They would go their separate ways. Illya found this more difficult to imagine then he would have thought.

“So have you thought which lab you will transfer to?” Napoleon asked as they continued their walk to the exit.

“Napoleon, I have not had time to consider,” Illya protested. Maybe he would not transfer at all. “How about you? Do you still plan to go into computers?”

They turned in their badges and exited the changing room. “Perhaps,” Napoleon said thoughtfully. “Have dinner with me. There is something I would like to discuss with you.”

“What is there to discuss?” 

“Oh this and that. My place? Eight o’clock? Please.”

The please did it. With a sigh, the Russian nodded his agreement.

~mfu~

Illya knocked on Napoleon’s door punctually at eight o’clock, surprised by the “Come on in. It’s not locked” that sounded through the door. He let himself in, saying as he carefully set the alarm. “You realize it is dangerous for you to leave your door unlocked.” He turned around and his jaw dropped.

“Oh, I don’t know. After tomorrow it shouldn’t be,” Napoleon said as he waved a match extinguishing its flame. There in the dining area, the table was set with fine linen, fine china, and candles. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble just for me,” Illya joked, waving his hand toward the table. There was something in Napoleon's eyes that made Illya uneasy. What was it Napoleon had in mind?

Napoleon, a white towel draped across one arm, was standing behind one of the chairs, pulling it out for Illya to sit, which he did rather reluctantly. Napoleon was acting the part of waiter in one of the better restaurants and doing it quite well. Napoleon poured the wine, waiting for Illya’s approval. There were covered silver serving dishes on the table, the meal obviously catered. Napoleon sat across from him and lifted each lid with a flourish, “Voila`.”

There was caviar, oysters on a half shell, escargot, every aphrodisiac in the book. Illya stared at everything, then brought his blue eyes to Napoleon’s face. Napoleon had the serving spoons and was solicitously dishing out food for both of them. 

“You wanted to discuss something?” Illya asked. Somewhere to the back of Illya’s mind he felt alarmed. But he squelched it. This was Napoleon, his friend and partner. 

“Later,” Napoleon said, taking a sip from his wine glass.

Illya picked up a fork, sampling a custard dish. Eggs with mushrooms, shrimp, and he detected the taste of chicken broth. “This is very good.”

“I’m glad you're enjoying it. I made it myself,” Napoleon said with a smirk. Their conversation turned inane as the two men talked about inconsequential things. On many occasions, the two men had flirted with each other playfully, but this time Napoleon appeared serious.

The uneasiness Illya had felt earlier returned as he belatedly picked up on the signals Napoleon was subtly sending out. “Are you insane?” he exclaimed as he pushed away from the table and stood up.

Napoleon paused. He continued to push food around on his plate nervously. “Quite possibly,” he admitted, finally looking up into the deep blue eyes, his dark, hazel eyes pleading. 

“When did you start thinking about this?”

“You would have to ask that,” Napoleon said ruefully. “I suppose it was when I realized we would never be able to sleep together again.”

“That recent…?”

Napoleon took a deep breath and stood up, moving closer to the Russian. “Tomorrow I will in all probability be detrained. Tomorrow Mr. Waverly will be nothing more than a nice old man I worked for. And you…you I might not remember at all. I’m not sure I can bare that.”

As Napoleon moved closer, Illya backed away, almost knocking over a lamp in his haste to evade his partner. “It might not work. It didn’t with George Dennel.”

“With our help, that’s true. I doubt that they would let that happen again.” Napoleon was very close now. “Please,” he pleaded. “You cannot tell me you’ve never thought about it. Dreamed what it would be like if we…”

Illya turned away unable to meet Napoleon’s eyes. His own closed as Napoleon gently pulled his face back around to ever so softly bring their lips together. Unlike the last time their lips touched this time seemed to last forever. Napoleon’s arms embraced him and when Napoleon’s tongue traced his lips, begging entrance he surrendered to the inevitable opening his mouth to the inquisitive tongue. 

Illya slipped out of his shoes as his jacket slipped from his shoulder. He kept his eyes shut as he reveled in the sensations assaulting him. He could feel trembling fingers unbutton his shirt, the same fingers caressing his chest, a thumb moving over a hardened nipple. All the while Napoleon was kissing him, leaving his expertise in this no longer in doubt.

The button on his trousers was undone, the zipper ever so slowly lowered. His trousers joined his shirt and jacket on the floor and a hand was at his briefs. He opened his eyes; his hand covering Napoleon’s, staying his movement. “Nyet. No,” he pleaded. He wasn’t ready for that. 

Napoleon pulled back, his deep hazel eyes nodding his understanding. He took the Russian’s hand and led him into the bedroom, gently lowering him to the bed. Tonight they would do what they had never done before. Napoleon trembled with anticipation as he slowly removed his clothing, watching Illya, who watched him do it. 

Then Illya closed his eyes letting his other senses take over. The gentle caresses of Napoleon’s fingers as they stroked his body. The subtle scent of Napoleon’s cologne, usually Napoleon was very heavy handed with it. Sounds – the rustling of the soft sheets beneath his body, not the usual linen, but satin. The sound of the heating mechanism as it clicked off and on. Then there was the sensation of those incredible lips trailing kisses across his body. Illya bit his lip in an effort to hold back the moans that sought to escape. Impossible of course.

Somehow, he felt he shouldn’t be responding like this. He should have more control. But it felt so nice, just to lie here and let someone else do all the work. Not that sex was work, but you had to think about what you were doing, be the aggressive one. Let Napoleon do all the work. Oh God. Illya arched up as a wet tongue followed by warm pair of lips suckled on one of his nipples. He had not thought that an erogenous zone. He felt himself hardening. He had the vague thought that he should have worn boxers tonight; his response would have been less noticeable. A hand was stoking his genitals through his briefs and he was thrusting up against it.

A whimper of disappointment escaped when Napoleon and his lips moved away. Then his briefs were sliding down his legs. Hands stroked the outside of his thighs, then slid up the inside causing them to spread apart. The fingers were back, gliding over his erect penis, teasingly, then down to the sacks below, gently rolling them. He couldn’t help but squirm. His blue eyes opened wide and he raised his head when a warm mouth descended on his erection, fully enclosing it. The tongue sliding up and down on the shaft, swirling across the head of his cock, then swooping down to take it all in again. His head fell back and he closed his eyes, reveling in the sensations. 

Suddenly the mouth was gone. The sound of a jar lid being opened was heard. Illya’s chest tightened in apprehension. “Napoleon?” His voice sounded hoarse and he was surprised he could articulate at all. “I’ve never…”

Napoleon’s eyes, warm and tender, caught his; a gentle smile lit his face as he set the open jar next to them on the bed. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll enjoy this,” he said softly.

Illya let his head fall back again. He eyes tightly squelched, preparing himself mentally for the invasion of his body. Napoleon’s mouth was once again encasing his somewhat softened erection, causing it to stiffen once again. Creamed filled fingers were stoking the inside of his thighs, caressing his balls, then sliding lower to the anal opening. The fingers moved away again, only to come back laden with more of the soft cream. Swirling gently around the outside, tickling him, before slowly entering. The feeling was strange, but not painful. Illya had expected pain, surprised when none came. His face must have shown his surprise because Napoleon was chuckling around his erection. That felt good too.

He gripped the sheets on either side of him, breathing heavily as one leg bent opening him up further. The finger that was coating his insides with cream had flicked on something deep within him that sent shockwaves throughout his body. He arched into it wanting more, ready to explode. Mouth and hand both withdrew and Illya was ready to hit Napoleon. His eyes opened in anger. He had been so close to climaxing.

Napoleon was looking at him, his gaze tentative. Napoleon wanted something. What? The fear must have shown on his face. “No, my friend, I will not ask that of you,” Napoleon said gently, as he handed the jar to his partner. “Not today, perhaps someday when you are ready.” The sound of sadness in the way he said it, made Illya realize that if Napoleon was, indeed, to be detrained tomorrow that would never be.

Napoleon had moved to the head of the bed. His olive toned body with his legs spread invitingly on the satin sheet. He lifted his legs, opening himself up, his eyes silently beseeching. 

Illya scooped a wallop of cream from the jar and spared a glance at Napoleon’s face. Napoleon was breathing heavily, his eyes were shining, his lips parted in anticipation. He was not only ready for this, he wanted it.

A tentative spreading of the cream around the anal opening, then teasingly up to caress the red round sacs that stood out against the tanned skin. Hesitantly he gathered another scoop and his finger was inside. He was amazed at how he instinctively seemed to know exactly what to do. He kept his eyes on Napoleon, pleased to see how flushed with excitement he looked. Delving in deeper, he hit the magic spot, and was rewarded by the most sensuous moan he had ever heard from anyone’s lips. The sound traveled down to his throbbing cock and he knew if he didn’t do something soon he would explode. Positioning himself between Napoleon’s thighs, he looked into Napoleon’s passion-filled eyes. 

Napoleon’s hand reached for his neck, bringing their mouths together as Illya penetrated him. His legs wrapped around Illya holding him in place for just a moment. Then the two men began moving together as they did with everything in their partnership. Illya no longer sure who was seducing whom. Surprisingly enough he found he enjoyed this, though it didn’t last nearly as long as either of them wanted it to. 

~mfu~

The next day, Illya stood in the background as his former partner emerged from the room where Napoleon had been formally detrained. There was much backslapping by former colleagues as Napoleon handed in his badge at the entrance.

Napoleon was going from one person to the next, shaking hands. When he finally got to Illya, his eyes peered intently, striving to place him. “I know you,” Napoleon said lightly. 

Illya smiled. “Yes.”

Napoleon nodded, showing no other signs of recognition, and clasped Illya’s hand firmly. Then turned and left U.N.C.L.E. and Illya behind. 

Illya stood there, watching the door close on their partnership. His chest felt heavy as he turned, putting his hands into his pockets, to go back to deciding what it was he planned for his future. His hand came across a folded paper inside. Pulling it out, he opened it to read. Maybe not today. But someday, when you are ready. . He turned around and looked at the closed door. The paper had not been in his pocket earlier, of that he was sure.

~mfu~

Ten years later Illya Kuryakin sat in his office going over the candidates to update the computer system of Vanya’s. After Napoleon’s departure, he had transferred to another U.N.C.L.E. branch, working in the labs, and found it not to his liking. The professionals in charge of detraining had all left U.N.C.L.E.’s services by that time, so upon his leaving, he unlike his partner was allowed to retain all his memories.

On embarking on his new career choice Mr. Waverly had proven most helpful, as well as the two designers from the Hot Number Affair. They had taken him under their wing and introduced him to other designers. After an apprenticeship of five years he had eventually opened Vanya’s and was doing quite well. He worked with some of the most beautiful women in the world, his designs were getting rave reviews and he was much in demand. Hence the need to upgrade his accounting systems. 

Looking down the list his eyes stopped at Solocom. Was it possible? He held his breath as he checked the detailed information on Solocom. Sure enough there it was – President: Napoleon Solo.

Normally Illya would have delegated contact on this to his secretary. He tapped his fingers on his desktop before reaching for the phone.

“Solocom.”

“This is Illya Kuryakin of Vanya’s. I would like to speak to Napoleon Solo please.”

“One moment please.”

“Solo here.” Even after ten years, Illya would have recognized that voice anywhere.

“Sir, I am with Vanya’s Fashion Designs, calling about updating our computer systems,” Illya stated simply.

There was a pause then. “Illya?”

Illya let out a breath - he remembered. “Yes.”

“It is good to hear your voice, old friend,” Napoleon said delightedly. “Just how may I help you?”

Illya twirled the phone cord with his fingers. “I’m not sure. Perhaps we could get together to discuss it?”

There was silence on the line. “I will have to rearrange my schedule, but would tonight be okay?”

Illya let out a sigh of relief. “But of course. The Russian Café? Seven o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

Illya hung up the phone, surprised to find his hands trembling. He reached into his billfold and pulled out a much-creased slip of paper Maybe not today. But someday, when you are ready. It had been ten years, but maybe, just maybe he was ready.

Six forty-five found him anxiously waiting at the bar in the Russian Café. Illya had just brought his drink to his lips, when something made him look toward the entry. There was Napoleon. He set his drink down and waited. 

Napoleon’s eyes traveled around the room then stopped, resting on the face of the blond-haired man sitting at the bar. A brilliant smile of recognition lit his face as he worked his way across the room to sit next to him. “You look wonderful. I don’t believe you have changed a bit.”

Illya smiled thinly, he knew he had changed, though not nearly so much as his friend. “It is good to see you also.” He waited until Napoleon had ordered a drink to ask. “The detraining didn’t work I take it.” For Napoleon should not have recognized him as he had.

“Oh, it worked,” Napoleon assured him. His hazel eyes held a surprisingly familiar look to them. “They just couldn’t erase memories that they were unaware of.”

Illya felt a blush come over his face as he considered which memories those were.

Napoleon took a sip of his drink before asking casually, “Been sleeping well?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Illya replied. “Not being shot at and working fourteen hour days makes it very conducive for sleeping. And you?”

There was a stretch of silence. “There is sleeping, then there is sleeping,” Napoleon said. “Tell you what, why don’t we eat then we can go someplace and discuss it.”

Illya was agreeable. So they ate, then left for the penthouse at the Alexandria Park Hotel, Napoleon’s current residence.

Once inside the door, Napoleon turned suddenly and gathered the Russian into his arms, kissing him. “I’ve missed that, though I didn’t know that was what I missed,” he said breathlessly when he finally let Illya go.

“Napoleon,” Illya chided. “It was only the one time.”

“Was it?” Napoleon asked, trying to keep a smile from appearing. “I am sorry I don’t remember.”

Illya smiled a smile that would have shocked his coworkers for its brilliance. He tilted his head to one side and moved in closer. “Perhaps I should assist in refreshing your memory?” 

The End


End file.
